


Like Spinning Plates

by Laurie



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Dissociative Identity Disorder, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Schizophrenia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-24 22:30:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2598869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurie/pseuds/Laurie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"That night when Arthur is asleep, Edward comes back.<br/>In the heart of hearts Arthur has always known that day would come, still, it doesn’t make him any less terrified as he remembers this one simple thing:<br/>Once Edward is here, he’s not ever leaving again"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Spinning Plates

**Author's Note:**

> So I’ve been trying to write a story like that for almost as long as I can remember myself, so and it just didn’t work for any other fandom. Now I’ve grown so lazy that I stole this idea from my other unfinished fic, and started to write this one, then quit it for three years because life happened.   
> Nevertheless, here’s the story I’ve been writing for what felt like AGES, and I’ve put my fucking soul in this and I feel pretty exhausted now. God help me.  
> English – still not my first language, lads, and this shite is not even beta’d  
> Oh, and comments are absolutely necessary, however critisizing they might be.   
> The title comes from Radiohead's 'Like spinning plates' track

**_Like spinning plates_ **

 

  *****Inception*****

Arthur doesn’t really remember how it started for the second time, he’s sure there were headaches and _Eames_ , but for the life of him he can’t remember when, exactly.

He knows it starts, or rather _continues_ , in 2009, four days after his thirty-forth job with Cobb and tenth job with Eames, after everyone had left their warehouse and split, each one of them leaving Warsaw and going to various parts of the world. Basically, it can be said that it happened four days after _Eames_ left, but Arthur doesn’t think of it in that way, _yet_.

He walks back to his hotel room in the outskirts of Paris and it is dark outside, street lamps shining brightly above his head, when it happens for the first time.

(At least Arthur thinks it had been the first time, he’s not so sure anymore)

One of the street lamps begins to flick slightly and then with a loud crash the lamp explodes. Arthur stops in his tracks, looks up and stares at it, before all the other lamps begin to flicker.

There’s no one on the street besides him.

He draws out his gun, looking around, trying to spot anything, anyone, but he feels strange, different, and all the light flickering around him – it really gets on his nerves, his head is hurting.

Suddenly he notices it’s not a warm summer evening anymore. The air around him seems to have chilled and the temperature must have lowered for at least ten degrees because Arthur is suddenly cold, so cold, the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand up with goose bumps, and then he hears whispering.

It sounds everywhere around him and comes from inside of him at the same time. It’s just a mess of voices, loud and cold, furiously whispering and accusing him of something, and Arthur realizes he is scared.

He is so scared his right hand twitches so hard he has dropped his gun and didn’t even notice it.

The headache is so furious it seems like his head is going to explode any second now and the whispering rings in his ears and he feels his pulse raising beating wildly, his heart feels like it’s going to jump out of his chest.

And then he sees something, not far from where he’s standing. Some black and intangible thing, some bundle of air and it’s moving, right to him, this black mist of shadows, creeping it’s way to him, shifting and flickering under the blinking lights.

His legs feeling numb from cold and fear, his heart racing, Arthur takes a step back from it, then another one and another, until he realizes he’s on the ground and he’s still crawling away from it, trying to find a gun, which must lie somewhere on the ground, with shaking fingers, even though in heart he knows it’ll be of no use to him now. The air around him is chilly and electrified and it’s becoming hard for him to breath, his knees ache (and he must have torn his suit), and the shadows are so close to him, he screws his eyes shut until they sting and begs and prays for this to stop, whatever it is, to _please, stop_

And just like that, it does.

Arthur is on the ground, panting heavily and looking around with wild look in his eyes, his shirt damp with cold sweat, fingers shaking. There is suddenly noise of cars passing by a few feet away, a distant sound of a barking dog, and all these soft sounds crush Arthur’s ears with immense pain. His head is still throbbing, and as he tries to get up, he feels his legs won’t be able to keep him up for long.

Confused, frightened and angry, Arthur manages to make his way to his hotel, looking around frantically every thirty seconds, his hand grasping the gun in his pocket in a death grip.

In the heart of hearts Arthur knows what had happened that day, and upon realizing it he stuffs this knowledge to the furthest corner of his mind, wishing to never think about it again.

Next morning he gets up early as usual, eats the same food as usual, goes to Starbucks and orders his usual coffee, and spends the rest of the day just like he usually does, and then the next day and the one after that.

He doesn’t think about that night when he was crawling on the ground shaking with fear. He manages not to think about it all, and with time he forgets about it, as if it had never happened. He tries not to remember it and he succeeds and moves on with his life.

Until it happens for the second time.

*****Inception*****

After The Great Inception job they all leave Los Angeles, except Arthur. That is because he has a home there. Well, a place, which can remotely resemble a home, considering he visits it once or twice a year, but for Arthur it’s enough. It’s modern and high-tech and he bought all the furniture himself so the apartment feels nice and homey, and it is a pleasant change for him after the stress and shock of Inception job.

For some reason he keeps thinking about Eames, in his mind always getting to the last time he saw him – in the LAX. Eames was standing there, smiling faintly as he spotted Arthur, this bewildered shaken expression on his face, as if he couldn’t believe the job had finished and he came out of it alive. Arthur felt then a surge of something, he still can’t understand of what exactly, but he remembers he wanted to come up to Eames and just… hug him and say something nice, warm, something like _everything is going to be alright, don’t worry_ , but he immediately dismissed the thought. Eames didn’t need his support or encouragement and he definitely didn’t need to hear these cliché phrases, least of all from Arthur, of all people.

Regardless, even though Eames is gone to god-knows-where, never looking back, Arthur constantly comes back to the thoughts of him, rewinding all their conversations in his head over and over again, memorizing Eames’ expressions, his smiles and smirks, the look in his eyes and soon Arthur realizes it’s not normal. It’s not OK to get to this point of obsession with Eames, more by token that he’s begun to have awful headaches every now and then. Or rather – _migraines_ would be the right word.

So he stops thinking about Eames. He just buries himself in work, never leaving a spare minute for his fantasies, or whatever they can be called.

And it goes well at first. He doesn’t think of Eames, doesn’t remember him, nothing reminds Arthur of the man.

Until one day (two and a half weeks after Inception) Eames calls him.

Arthur has no idea how Eames got his new number, and when his cell rings for the first time he stares at it, perplexed, before answering, voice tight.

“Yes?”

“ _Hello, darling_ ”

Even through the possible thousands of miles between them Arthur can feel Eames smirking. He grits his teeth, suddenly tired and unreasonably angry with Eames, even though he’s glad to hear him. Fucking paradoxes.

He feels a beginning of a headache.

“What do you want? How did you get this number, Mr. Eames?”

“ _Mr. Eames? Come on, Artie, we’ve almost died together, doesn’t that count for something? I believe we are way past formalities now, aren’t we?_ ”

“Whatever has happened or will possibly ever happen _will not_ give you the right to call me _Artie_ ” Arthur snaps, his mood taking for the angry, and he feels his face flush. He can’t even explain this to himself, the reasons for why he’s so mad now, but his head is fucking throbbing and he’s sick and tired of Eames’ attitude –

“ _Don’t be so anal, sweetheart_ ” Eames laughs – fucking _laughs_ – at the other side of the wire. And then his voice gets completely serious. “ _I miss you, you know_ ”

It’s absolutely new for Arthur to hear Eames voice like that, and he doesn’t know what to think of it, what to say to that. And then his head explodes with pain, making him shut his eyes tight until he sees stars and he decides Eames is just messing with him again, _fucking with him_ , _like he always does._

“ _Arthur?_ ” Eames says tentatively, now sounding uncertain, but Arthur doesn’t hear that – he sees white and he’s absolutely enraged and in pain, and he feels something wet running down his cheeks. He touches his face and realizes belatedly that he’s crying. He stares at his wet fingers in disbelief and Eames calls his name over the phone again and again.

And Arthur snaps.

“ _Fuck you, Eames_ ” he hisses furiously, heart racing, “I’ve had enough of your shit to last me a fucking lifetime, so be nice and kindly _fuck off_!”

He doesn’t hear Eames’ reply because he snaps his phone shut with so much force he’s surprised he hasn’t broken it. It’s all Eames’ fucking fault – always screwing with him, messing with him, laughing at him, never being fucking serious for a moment, and Arthur is so tired of this, he just wants, he wants –

He vomits on the floor suddenly, his insides burning and he hasn’t felt so shitty for quite a long time. He sinks on the floor, resting his head against the wall, his damp hair sticking to his forehead. As his breathing slowly returns to normal, his rage withers and he thinks with sudden horror about what he had said to Eames.

He doesn’t know the reason for his unreasonable anger, or his whole hysteria with all the tears and vomiting and he thinks _what the hell is wrong with me?_

Every part of his body aches and hurts and he doesn’t have the will to move so he stays where he is – lying on the floor, heart pounding painfully in his chest. He wants to call Eames back but he finds himself unable to, and just thinking about it makes his head hurt so he doesn’t.

He falls asleep right on the floor.

***Inception***

The next morning he worries and tortures himself about what Eames must have thought of him and that Eames might never call him again and the thought disheartens Arthur in so many levels, he can’t even understand when he has got to the point in his life where Eames’ opinion has come to mean so much to him.

His head throbs all morning and Arthur just swallows one pill of aspirin after the next and it still doesn’t help a bit.

He’s restless, he can’t concentrate on work – instead he keeps glancing at his phone to check if Eames has called but there are still no missed calls. He gets angry and frustrated and he can’t even sit unmoving, and that gets him more furious and he is mad that he’s so mad about Eames, and since when has he been so goddamn crazy about anyone and why is his fucking head hurts so much?!

And then Eames calls him.

Arthur answers after two and a half seconds.

“Yes?!” He pretty much yells in his phone, all of his nerves on edge and he shivers involuntary.

“ _Arthur_?” Eames’s voice comes, wary and slow, “ _I just wanted to check if you’re alright. You seemed… off yesterday_ ”

“Eames” Arthur manages to rasp because suddenly he’s very cold, and his teeth are almost chattering. He knows he must say something, he wants to say something but there’s a rush of emotions to his head and he’s overwhelmed with them, can’t sort them out, the only thing he knows is that he doesn’t want Eames to hang up. “ _Eames_ ” he repeats hoarsely.

“ _Yes, darling?_ ” Eames says softly, almost tenderly and there’s concern evident in his tone and god, Arthur must be absolutely _pathetic_.

And with that thought he’s furious again.

“ _Where are you now, love?_ ” Eames asks him and something in his voice or maybe something that he said makes Arthur’s insides flip. He swallows heavily, his mind racing, trying to decide whether it’s a good idea to let Eames know where he is.

“I’m in… _ah_ … I’m in LA” He manages through the sharp pain in his head. He’s in so much pain, he thinks he’s crying again. As if through a wall he hears a whimper that must have come out of him. “Eames _, please_ ” he begs in his phone, though he knows perfectly well there’s nothing Eames can do about the pain, but it feels good to say it out loud.

“ _God, Arthur, I’ll be there as soon as I can_ ” Eames promises and now there’s definitely concern and worry in his tone and after he hangs up Arthur is sick all over the floor again.

His right hand is twitching violently, like in convulsions.

Arthur lies there, on the floor, in the pool of his own vomit, feeling shittier than he has for a long time and he can’t help but think, over and over again:

_What is fucking wrong with me?!_

*****Inception*****

That night when Arthur is asleep, Edward comes back.

In the heart of hearts Arthur has always known that day would come, still, it doesn’t make him any less terrified as he remembers this one simple thing:

Once Edward is here, he’s not ever leaving again.

*****Inception*****

Arthur is awoken in the middle of the night, judging by the darkness in the room, and the reason he’s awake is because there’s a hand on his shoulder – cold hand, almost icy – and the hand shakes him gently, calling his name in a quiet whisper.

“Eames?” he whispers, turning his head around to the person, and he suddenly realizes he’s still lying on the floor, his own vomit dried and sticky on his clothes. He feels awful, dirty, disgusting. Some part of his brain is terrified that Eames sees him like this – fallen hard, and pathetic.

Then it gets cold in the room in a matter of seconds, so cold Arthur can feel a chilly breeze on his face.

“No, it’s not Eames _, darling_ ” the voice above him says, the voice Arthur will always recognize in a million, the voice he’s hoped and wished so hard not to hear ever again. He screws his eyes shut, mortified, refusing to look up and see the person he’s come to hate more than anything in his life, who he’s hoped he had left behind years ago.

“What, Arthur, dear, aren’t you happy to see me, darling?” And his voice is the same, cocky and arrogant, with the note of smugness. “What an attitude!”

He doesn’t open his eyes, afraid to do so, and he instead counts in his mind to ten, then to twenty, willing it to stop, willing Edward to disappear.

He doesn’t. Arthur’d be surprised if he did.

“Open your eyes, Arthur, don’t be shy” Edward whispers into his ear, making his whole body shudder. When he doesn’t obey, the jolt of pain rushes through him, sharp and intense, and the voice hisses in his ear “ _Look. At. Me. Arthur._ ”

And he looks, unable to bear the pain, tearing him apart.

Edward hasn’t changed a bit, not even a little, even though Arthur was thirteen the last time he saw him. Edward is still tall, muscular, redheaded and devilishly handsome, the same cocky smile tugging at his lips, same bang of red hair hanging over his eyes, so Arthur can’t really see his eyes, but he knows Edward can see _him_.

“Why are you here, Edward?” Arthur chokes out finally.

“Edward? Why don’t you call me _Eddie_ anymore?

“You damn well know that! Now _why are you here, Edward_ ”

“You tell me, _darling_ ” Edward replies, making emphasis on the last word, and Arthur remembers why he’s always hated it when Eames called him that. He never really thought about that, always putting the reason in the back of his mind, but now it comes out as if it’s been here all the time – the reminder of Edward, and, unfortunately, almost everything about Eames is a reminder of Edward. “Seems like you need me now more than ever, or you wouldn’t be lying on the floor in the pool of your own vomit, would you?”

“I never needed you” Arthur growls out, looking up at Edward from the floor, making pathetic attempts to get up, but his body refuses to listen to him, his head throbbing with pain. “Not now, not ever”

“Lies you’ve been telling yourself, dear Artie” Edward smirks and everything about him is so smug and haughty and impossible that Arthur is overwhelmed with rage and hatred and, god, he’s shaking with emotion, hating and wishing to be able to kill that _piece of shit-_

“ _Piece of shit?!_ ” Edward says quietly, dangerously, and of course he can fucking read his thoughts, how could Arthur forget that, “That’s how you think of me now, after _all I’ve done for you?!_ ”

He sounds deadly calm, quiet and dangerous, _ominous_ , and the air around them is suddenly electrified, full of tension and fear and cold, and Arthur swallows past the bile in his throat, his heart racing, because _no_ , for the life of him, he never _ever_ wants to get Edward mad or angry, because he knows what can happen, he knows it all too well.

“No, no, I’m sorry, Edward, _I’m sorry, alright?_ ” he hastens to say, and he thinks he sees the blackness of Edward’s eyes behind his fringe. “Just… _why_ have you come back?”

He almost tears up, asking that question.

Edward grins charmingly. “I’ve never left, darling”

And it’s so much like their last conversation, that Arthur has to remind himself again and again that _it’s not happening, it’s not real, Edward’s **not** here, he’s not here –_

“Then why are you talking to me, Artie dear?”

“Please, Edward” Arthur chokes out, and his eyes do water, but he’s way past caring now. “ _Please_. Go away”

Edward scoots closer, his face unreadable mask.

“Why are you talking like that? Is it that Eames person, influencing you way too much?” He hisses, his every word strikes Arthur like a hammer. “You think you’ve become so cool, got a fancy degree and fancy apartment, a job on the wrong side of the law and it changes you that much? Well, listen to me, _Artie_ , but you fucking haven’t. You’re still the pathetic repressed teenager I know, whatever you might have thinking of yourself this far.”

He makes a pause and whispers, his voice echoing in the deadly quiet apartment.

“You think you don’t need me anymore? You think you’re all grown up and independent now that you don’t need to cry on my shoulder anymore? You think you replaced me with Cobb or Mal, or Eames or whatever? Well, _think again_ ”

There’s dreadful silence, only Arthur’s heavy panting and the sound of his heart beating in his ears.

He feels like shit, absolutely fucking despicable and disgusting. He clung to the wall helplessly, feeling like he’s under fire of these icy words, like he’s pinned to the wall, in the corner with nowhere to run or hide. 

Edward, nevertheless, seemingly isn’t about to stop anytime soon.

“You think your father died and you’re suddenly all independent and healthy and free of your own shit, lie his death solved all of your pathetic problems. Like if you just put all those memories in the back of your head and pretend it never happened to you, everything would be all right. Well, no fucking way, Arthur, hate to break it to you but life’s not like that. You’re still repressed and so deep in the closet some people can’t even hear you, and the fact that your father died never stopped you from wanting men, never stopped you being less of a sick queer!”

It feels like his intestines are being pulled out of him and then used to smother him. He suddenly feels like vomiting again, even though his stomach was empty. He screws his eyes shut so tightly they sting, and he prays to god and all the saints he knows to please, _please_ , _make it stop, make it stop, make Edward disappear, and let Arthur die and never feel anything again, **please** –_

And just like that it stops. Arthur feels rather than hears the absence of Edward, and as soon as he opens his eyes to make sure, he is sick all over the floor again.

This time he forces himself to get up and go to shower, the wild mix of emotions tearing him apart, making his head hurt. The shock has faded and Arthur is left with the realization that it has started all over again, Edward appeared in his life when Arthur least of all needed it, and thing will turn from bad to worse in a matter of nothing now.

The hot water runs down his body, his face, his hair, and he feels anger, hurt, fear, and guilt. He isn’t sure where the last one came from, though, but he supposes he has to get used to the feeling now.

He shuts down the water, dries himself, cleans up the floor.

He is afraid to go to sleep, actually, but he figures it’s stupid and he has to sleep anyway, so he just grits his teeth and lies down, putting the blanket over his head, tucks himself in.

He’s asleep in less than a minute.

*****Inception*****

Eames comes the next day, when Arthur is still lying in bed, feeling sore and sick and too lazy to get up. Eames knocks on the door several times and Arthur panics, his first thought being that it’s Edward coming back, and then he figures Edward wouldn’t knock, and Edward _isn’t fucking real_ , so he gets up and opens the door.

He must look as shitty as he feels, because Eames frowns on seeing him.

“You look like shit” Eames feels the need to state the obvious before making his way inside, not waiting for Arthur to invite him. He brushes Arthur on his way through the doorframe and Arthur flinches at the touch.

He suddenly realizes he doesn’t know what to say to Eames. He doesn’t know why he even called him in the first place. Now that Eames is here, he’s shifty and uncomfortable and nervous.

“So” Eames begins, having settled on the coach and pulled out his pack of cigarettes. He lightens one and takes a deep drag before continuing. “Care to explain, darling?”

And Arthur is angry again, not even sure why – because of the fact he’s got nothing to explain, doesn’t know how to do it without making a complete psychopath out of himself, or because Eames called him _darling_ again, just like Edward always did.

Part of him is angry just because of Eames sitting there in front of him, calm and collected and sensible – all of the things Arthur is not, right now. Part of him is angry just because Eames is… well, _Eames_. He doesn’t even know how to explain it to himself.

God, he’s such a mess.

He sits down beside Eames, quirks a questioning eyebrow and then pulls out a cigarette for himself. After several days of constant throwing up it feels weird in his mouth. He inhales, resting on the back of the coach. With a corner of his eye, he sees Eames watching him, the calculating bastard.

“So?” Eames prompts him again. Arthur suppresses the urge to glare at him.

He feels like a fifteen-year-old all of a sudden. He swallows. There’s a million things he could say to Eames now, all of them, but isn’t stupid, isn’t brave enough to do so.

“Well, I didn’t really ask you to come here, did I?” Arthur finally say, settling sown for defensive.

Eames winces like he has a particularly bad toothache and he licks his lips absent-mindedly. Arthur’s eyes follow the curve of his full lips, and he automatically mirrors the action.

God damn Eames, making him feel that way, making him want things h isn’t supposed to want.

“Now, now, Arthur, can’t we just skip this part when you try to pull this shit on me that both you and I know I won’t buy and get straight to the point, please?” Eames says, staring him down, his eyes cold and calculative like he sees right through Arthur. His eyes are slightly narrowed, his face unreadable. “Because I did not just fly ass-thousand miles to you for _this_ ”

“Where’ve you been?” Arthur asks, desperately trying to get Eames off the topic.

“In Russia. Moscow. Interesting country with constipated people. Good vodka, though. Oh, and definitely good girls. Very flexible, if you know what I mean” He leers smugly, and Arthur is suddenly full of disappointment, like the hopes he didn’t even know he had were crashed to the ground.

“What have you been doing there?”

“A job. Not really exciting. But then again, nothing’s really exciting enough anymore, after the thing we pulled with Fischer’s mind” Eames says, exhaling smoke. Arthur is mesmerized with the sight of his pink lips again. Eames continues, his gaze boring a hole in Arthur. “Nice try, Artie dearest, though you should know better than to try and distract me this easily. Now quit this shite and tell me what’s happened to you that provoked the late-night calls to me, full of tears and despair, hmm?”

Arthur flushes, embarrassed.

“They were not full of – how _dare you_ – you know what, I don’t need this from you, whatever you must be thinking of yourself know, that you’re some hero of something – coming here and saving me like some damsel in distress, you can forget it! Do you hear me? I don’t want anything from you, you can go and do whatever you want, Eames!”

“Now _that’s_ a reaction” Eames says calmly his eyebrows raised. “Now, _please_ , tell me what crawled up your ass and died so I can put on my doctor gloves and examine”

And just as Arthur opens his mouth to start a new rant, another voice says right behind him.

“I see he’s not so bad, after all, _darling_ ”

Arthur freezes, feeling his heart skip a beat and then start to race twice faster.

_No, no, nononono, please, please, it can’t be happening now, it can’t, oh god –_

“You must get really hard on those lips, huh?” Edward says, coming closer and past Arthur, stepping to Eames, who sits on the coach, not seeing anything, not hearing –

“I wouldn’t blame you for jacking off to him, my boy, believe me, the guy’s hot as hell and he knows it all too well. Hence the effect he has on you”

Arthur stays like that, mouth half-open, eyes wide, face pale. Edward keeps coming up to Eames and then he leans down and puts a hand on Eames’ face, traces his fingers up and down Eames’ cheekbone, caressing.

“Yeah, I’d definitely fuck him hard if I were you”

Eames’ expression changes and now he frowns, seemingly having notices Arthur’s tense pose.

“Arthur? Arthur! What’s wrong?” Eames says, but Arthur doesn’t listen to him, he watches, petrified, as Edward bows down and gently kisses Eames on the cheek.

Eames doesn’t notice anything.

Arthur stands there, mouth open, watching helplessly as Edward runs his fingers up and down Eames’ face. Eames stands up, frowning and saying something, looking worried and concerned and it’s so rare that Arthur sees that expression on his face, but he can’t pay attention now, because Edward smirks smugly at him and then licks a long hot stripe along Eames’ left cheek, his tongue leaving a wet trail of saliva.

Arthur throws up.

He can’t stop, just keeps vomiting, his body shaking and convulsing, his head throbbing like there are tiny hammers inside, and he falls on his knees, praying for it to stop, to please, stop.

He feels a hand on his shoulder and tries to shake it off, but the hand is warm and he feels the heat radiating from it, so he assumes it’s Eames, not Edward, so he lets the hand stay, and it makes him feel just tiniest bit less fucked-up.

Eventually it stops. It seems like ages for Arthur, before his body stops convulsing, but in reality it must have been hardly two minutes and by the time it stops he feels broken, shaken, empty inside, as if all of his internal organs were pulled out of him without anesthesia, his throat dry and torn and there’s a taste of bile in his mouth.

He leans back on the wall, letting his head drop back, closing his eyes, panting heavily, his hair plumped to his forehead with sweat. There’re warm fingers on his face, touching him gently, moving a wet strand of hair from his face, softly and as if he might break.

“Arthur, god, what was that?” Eames whispers softly, and Arthur opens his eyes to look at him, and yeah, Eames is there, sitting on his knees beside him, looking worried and even scared, and there’s so much warmness and tenderness in his eyes that Arthur feels something twist in his belly.

Behind Eames stands Edward, his arms crossed on his chest, leaning against the wall, looking at Arthur with coldness and something dark and dangerous radiates from him.

For a moment Arthur thinks he has seen Edward’s eyes behind his fringe – absolutely black, without a trace of whiteness in them.

“Darling, _please_ , talk to me” Eames pleads, sighing quietly.

Arthur swallows.

He tells Eames: _There’s something wrong with me_

And: _I’m sick, Eames_

And: _I need you to listen to me, please_.

Then he starts talking.  
 *******

*****Inception*****

*****Inception*****

Arthur is seven years old when his elder brother dies, having been beaten to death by a group of aggressive teenagers. In the court where his father had dragged him, Arthur had heard one of them call his dead brother a ‘fucking _queer_ ’

He doesn’t know what it means then, but his father gets all riled up, tense and nearly murderous. He keeps sitting there, beside Arthur, and he mutters under his breath over and over again ‘ _my son was **not** a queer_ ’

It’s only a day after the funeral that Arthur cries for the first time, only now realizing what had happened, what he had lost. He won’t be able to talk to his brother, to play with him, to listen to him going on and on about the guys in his class, to feel safe because his brother is dead now, is _gone_ , and he _will never come back again._

And somewhere down the line of coming down to this realization, Arthur’s little word breaks and shatters.

Edward appears only two weeks later.

*****Inception*****

Arthur is crying, leaning on the wall on some dirty street, because some guys at school today mocked him and bullied him and, worst of all, they said awful things about his dead brother.

Today they’ve called him a _fag_. It’s another word Arthur doesn’t know the meaning of, but the boys were older than him, almost seven years older, around the age of his brother.

When Arthur asked his father what a _queer_ meant, his Dad turned mad and hissed that if anyone pronounced that word in his house again, he’d not be responsible for his actions.

So now Arthur is pressed to the wall, hot tears of rage and humiliation run down his cheeks, when there’s suddenly a voice behind him.

“Please, don’t cry, you would never solve any problem by crying”

It’s the thing his mother had used to say all the time, before she died, but the voice is male an Arthur turns around quickly to look at the speaker. He suddenly feels some wrongness, something strange and odd around him, some electricity in the air, and everything seems strange, unfamiliar, _different_ , the colors all wrong – too bright, too intensive, and Arthur is overwhelmed by it for a moment, shocked and confused, but the next moment it stops, and everything’s back to normal, though Arthur can’t even explain what it was in the first place that was wrong.

Behind him stands a man – he seems very grown-up to Arthur – probably twenty-five years old, and he smiles down at Arthur. He’s very tall (or maybe Arthur is just smaller than average), slim and muscular, red-headed, with a long fringe nearly covering his eyes. The man’s smile is warm, gentle and he looks down at Arthur with so much love and caring that no one has ever since his mother died.

He walks closer, bends down so he’s at the same eye-level with Arthur. He puts a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, very cold hand – the bright contrast to his warm eyes and smile.

“Those boys are just stupid, Arthur” He whispers it like it’s some kind of a big secret he shares just between the two of them. Arthur frowns.

“How do you know about that?” he asks him suspiciously.

“I’ve been watching you lately, dear, so I know a lot about you”

The term of endearment slips out of his mouth casually, like it is not a big deal, except that it is, and Arthur’s heart is beating faster and something in his chest tightens. No one ever used such words to call him, even his own mother, and Arthur feels a tugging desire to be called something like that again.

Nevertheless, he says.

“Why have you been watching me?”

“Ah, so I’ve been right about you – you _are_ the smart one, huh? Always see to the core” The stranger grins, ducking his head. Then he looks Arthur in the eye again, only this time he’s serious and he’s not smiling. “I just like you, Arthur, my boy. I want to be friends with you, that’s all.”

Somehow, Arthur is not surprised, he might have seen this coming. For some reason, this stranger appeals to him, makes him feel better and Arthur desperately wishes that he wouldn’t go away. Besides, he doesn’t have any friends at school, his only friends was his brother who is dead now, and Arthur is very lonely.

“But why don’t you make friends with men your own age?” Arthur asks the final question, because he can’t just leave it like that.

“Because I make friends with those who needs me, and men my own age don’t, so I’m here”

Arthur is silent for almost a minute. Then he makes up his mind.

“What is your name?” he says finally.

The stranger’s face is lit up with a broad smile.

“Edward. My name is Edward. But friends call me Eddie.”

*****Inception*****

Now that Arthur has Eddie things go much better.

He doesn’t feel lonely anymore. He has someone to talk to about anything he wants. Eddie will always listen.

Eddie _is always there_ for him.

He doesn’t know how Eddie manages it but he somehow does, and he’s there whenever Arthur wants to talk to him or just see him.

Eddie is his only friend now and Arthur does everything Eddie asks of him to keep that.

Eddie asks Arthur not to tell anyone about him. He asks to not even mention him in any conversation with whomever.

That’s only one simple rule, and Arthur will sure as hell not break it.

_Or everything will end_ , Eddie says one day, and even though Arthur doesn’t exactly know what it means, he keeps his mouth shut.

Anything, really, to keep Eddie pleased.

*****Inception*****

When Arthur is nine, his father buys a house in Utah and they move there.

Doubtlessly, Edward moves there too, for Arthur.

Edward doesn’t say how or why, and Arthur doesn’t ask.

He misses his home, more than anything. He missed his room, his brother’s room where he used to sit with Edward in evenings. His small yard where the swings used to be, the ones his father had once put there before David died, before his mother died, before he became the insufferable reserved drinking mess.

Arthur’s current room is much bigger, and so is his new bed, and Arthur doesn’t like that. It feels strange and different, and even though he has already been living here for four month, he still can’t bring himself to call this place _home_.

Edward helps him through it.

Once Edward comes to his new room and just says, _close your eyes, my boy_ , and when Arthur does, he feels that strangeness again, the one he felt when Edward first appeared behind him. There’s something wrong, something different, and when Arthur opens his eyes, he’s in his old room again, the opens straight to the yard where the swings are, and he looks at Edward gratefully who just looks back at him with warmness and love.

The do it very often after that, Edward taking Arthur to his old house, never missing a detail out, and Arthur is so happy he doesn’t even think anything of it, _yet_.

He is just glad he has a friend, a real friend, who talks to him and helps him with his homework and his French lessons, and he never thinks about _why_ is Edward there, _why_ he has moved across the country for him, _why_ he doesn’t allow Arthur to talk to anyone about him or _why_ and _how_ he can teleport Arthur magically to any place he wants.

He doesn’t let himself think about it, because he knows that once he does everything will somehow change, and it will never be the same again – just he and Edward, as he likes.

He also knows that once he has thought through his questions he will not like the answers.

So he pushes all that to the furthest corner of his mind, until he’s thirteen and he sees Edward angry for the first time.

Things quickly go to the worst after that, and no matter at what point of his life Arthur is later, he will always, _always_ remember that day, and it will forever be the reminder of why he can’t see Edward anymore.

*****Inception*****

When Arthur is thirteen he has his first crush. It happens to be a boy.

Arthur doesn’t think much of the fact that Stuart is the same sex as he is, he just likes to spend time with him, likes to talk to him, and one day it just hits him that Stuart is more to him than just a friend. He is tall, broad, handsome, a year older than Arthur, and basically the school’s number one Popular Boy. Arthur can’t imagine why on Earth Stuart would want to hang out with someone like Arthur.

But Stuart smiles fondly at him, the kind of smile he seems to have reserved only for Arthur, and Arthur finds he wants to kiss Stuart more and more each day.

One of those days among the thoughts of Stuart and what it would be like to kiss him, Arthur sees Edward angry for the first time.

“What are you doing, hanging out with that boy all the time, huh?” Edward hisses at him one evening, his fringe partly covering his eyes.

“Stuart’s my friend, Edward!” Arthur says indignantly, frowning.

“ _I’m_ your friend, Arthur, not that School-Star guy, and whatever you think he wants from you it’s not _friendship_!”

“Well, maybe I want something more than friendship, too!” Arthur snaps, angry and frustrated and Edward straightens his back, before saying calmly.

“So what now, you want to be one of those _queers_ , those _fags_ , like your brother was for them to beat the shit out of you and become a life-time disappointment for your father?”

And Arthur is suddenly mad, he sees red before his eyes, and who is Edward to say shit like that to him and he shouts “ _Shut the fuck up_!”

“What, home truths are hard to swallow, dear?” Edward says, tiny cold smile tugging at his lips, one eyebrow quirked.

“You know what,” Arthur says, forcefully calming down. “You are not my only friend anymore, Edward, deal with it. But I _will_ hang out with Stuart, whether you like that or not”

Edward stares at him for a long time, and Arthur feels his heard spinning for some reason.

“Okay” he finally says, ducking his head so his fringe completely covers his eyes. “But I want to meet him.”

That is unexpected because Arthur still hasn’t broken their Rule #1, and Edward never asked Arthur to meet with anybody.

He feels strange suddenly, his head spinning, and there’s that wrongness again the one Arthur is already used not to notice. He shakes his head to make it stop.

“Um. Okay. I guess. If you want to.” He says uncertainly.

“Yes, I want to” Edward says, and his voice is still icy, but Arthur ignores it.

*****Inception*****

They are to meet with Stuart in about five minutes on the bus station Arthur and Edward are now waiting, and Arthur is awfully nervous and anxious. His head hurts, and there’s something in his mind, something beneath the surface, some thought he can’t quite catch and figure out, and it feels like something bad, something horrifying, something he should’ve known or remembered but has forgotten.

The air around them is electrified and different and wrong, and Arthur has this presentiment, like something awful is going to happen know, and nothing will be back to normal again.

His heart is pounding in his chest, and he’s about to tell Edward that he’s changed his mind, _let’s go home_ , but then another voice says: “Hey, Arthur!”

He turns around, Edward closely behind him, and sees Stuart making his way to them.

“Hey” he says, stepping closer, and then Stuart says something that makes Arthur’s heart drop.

“So, where’s your friend?”

He says it casually, looking around them, as if he truly doesn’t see anyone right next to Arthur, and Arthur thinks with horror that _this is it, this is that thing_ , the thing that has been tugging at him ever since he’s known Edward.

He feels rather than sees Edward smirk next to him.

“What- What do you mean?” Arthur stutters, but, really, he should know better know.

“Let me see him” Edward whispers and stands before Arthur, facing Stuart, the poor boy, who has no idea, who doesn’t see, doesn’t _feel_ anything.

“Arthur, what’s wrong?” Stuart says, and he goes around to looks at Edward and he sees blackness, absolute blackness in his eyes behind that red fringe, and it is horrible, terrifying.

He hears Edward say “He’s _mine_ , you faggot” and then.

And then, everything’s black, Arthur’s fallen down to some infinite blackness, nothingness around him and he doesn’t know how long it lasts, before he opens his eyes again, panting, and he’s lying on the ground and it’s dark.

He lifts his head, throat tight, because he’s not at the bus station anymore, he’s forest border, and it’s dark.

He stands, feeling like shrinking into a ball and crying, and he doesn’t know how he’s got there, where’s Edward, and more importantly _where’s Stuart._

_He’s taken care of._

Edward’s voice sounds right inside of his head, as if he’s sitting inside him, making Arthur turn around frantically, in the search of Edward.

_You shouldn’t worry about that anymore, Arthur, dear._

 “What have you done?! _What have you done?!”_ Arthur yells, unable to see that son of a bitch.

“I’ve done what you wanted”

And he’s suddenly there, right in front of Arthur, smirking, the fringe covering his eyes. He’s leaning on a tree, arms crossed, and even in the dark, Arthur still sees a small spot of red at the collar of Edward’s shirt.

He freezes, his heart stopping.

“Oh my god, _oh my god_ , you crazy -”

“ _I_ am crazy? You’re so sure about that? You know I can see what you want, what you’re afraid of, Arthur, you know I know _everything_ about you”

“You – what have you done to him?! Where’s Stuart?!”

“You know where he is”

“No I don’t!”

“Yes you do, Arthur. Think about it”

And then he disappears, leaving Arthur in the forest, on the verge of tears, absolutely shocked and horrified.

*****Inception*****

Arthur doesn’t remember how he got home that night.

He just comes to his room, past his father, drunk at the dining table, takes off his clothes and lies in his bed.

Two days later, Stuart is considered missing. His mom and dad go to school, both sobbing, and the principal orders to hang around hundreds of Stuart’s photos with his features under them.

Two weeks later, Stuart’s body is found somewhere deep in the forest, or more exactly, the remains of his body.

_The boy was disemboweled_ , the police says to the parents.

_It must be that Utah psychopath-pedophile_ , they say.

Arthur knows better.

After the night in the forest Edward only comes a couple of times, always silent, just staring at Arthur from under the fringe.

The morning after That Night, when Arthur is picking up his clothes from the floor, he sees a tiny red blood spot on the collar of his shirt, the one he had worn to the bus station to meet with Stuart.

Arthur doesn’t let himself think about that.

Only a month later he notices, Edward has not been coming to him for a while. He doesn’t know when it stopped, just, suddenly, he wasn’t there anymore.

Still, Arthur thinks he feels Edward’s cold stare all the time, watching him silently, judging him.

He doesn’t think about that, either, pushing these thoughts away, like he’s used to with everything else, repressing the desire to see Edward again, repressing every thought about Stuart and what had really happened that night.

He doesn’t think about the fact he’s actually ill, _mentally_ ill. He knows he can’t go anywhere about this, because he’s sure once he’s with a shrink, they will be able to figure what’s wrong with them, and ten they’ll start to dig and find out what happened.

Arthur might be sick, but that doesn’t make him less smart, and he knows he’ll have to be responsible for Stuart even if he hasn’t done anything.

Though, this he isn’t absolutely sure of, anymore.

*****Inception*****

Edward comes again when Arthur is sixteen, and he’s feeling lonely and depressed. Edward is just suddenly in the room with him, still looking twenty-five, not having changed a bit, making Arthur feel small and helpless against him.

“How have you been, my boy?” He says, smiling coldly.

“Stop calling me that!” Arthur yells, and it’s nothing like it used to be between them – warm and friendly. Now it just feels… torturous. “What are you doing here?! Get the fuck away from me!”

“What, aren’t you glad to see your first and only friend? We’ve been together for a lot of years, Arthur, dear.”

“I don’t care!” Arthur says through gritted teeth. “I don’t want to see you _ever again_ , you sick fuck!”

“Now that was rude” Edward hisses and a jolt of pain goes through Arthur’s head. He falls on his knees. “I get angry, when I’m treated rudely. Do you want me to get angry?”

Arthur doesn’t say anything, writhing on the floor, his head killing him.

“ _Do you want me to get angry, Arthur?_ ”

“NO!” Arthur shouts, and the pain eases. Slowly, clumsily, he gets to his feet.

“Why don’t you want to see me anymore?” Edward asks, pure innocence. Arthur doesn’t buy this shit.

“You _are not real_ , Edward! So stop ruining my life!”

“Ruining your life?! So that’s what I’m doing know?”

“No, no, I’m sorry” Arthur says hastily, before Edward gets mad, “of course you’re not”

Edward keeps staring at, his eyes covered with his fringe.

“Why are you here, Edward?” He asks wearily.

“Because you need me, like you always have”

“No I don’t! _I don’t_ ” he states, doing his best to remain self-controlled. “I don’t and I haven’t for almost four years now, so please do understand that your assistance is not required. Not anymore” And that is true. He’s been very good so far at ignoring all the memories of Edward and That Night. He doesn’t need this to be ruined by Edward now.

“Ah, I see” Edward smirks, tilting his head to the side. “But I wouldn’t be so sure of that, taking into consideration the other night last week when you were crying into your pillow for hours like you are six, not _sixteen_.”

His eyes go wide. “You -”

“Of course I was watching you, Arthur! I’ve told you so many times already that _I’m always with you_ , I’m _always_ watching you even though you don’t see me”

He shuts his eyes with a pained expression. “Alright, now _please_ go”

And then the voice sounds right in his head: “Are you afraid of me now, my boy?”

He shudders, hearing the endearment and wishing he wouldn’t hear it ever again. His heart is beating painfully in his chest and his throat is dry but he can’t _not_ answer, or Edward will be mad.

“No”

“Don’t you dare lie to me, Arthur!” Edward hisses and the echo of his voice sounds in Arthur’s ears painfully, accompanied with feverish whispering and he suddenly feels like crying. “Don’t you dare do that, or may be you want to see me angry?!”

He doesn’t answer, his eyes hurt as he shuts them so tightly.

“ _Do you?!_ ”

“NO, I DON’T! Yes, I’m afraid of you, _yes_ , who wouldn’t be, considering what you’ve done to Stuart!?”

And he sobs hard, his whole body shaking with fear, hurt, anger, confusion, grief. The memories he’s been trying so hard to ignore all these years, they are forcefully taken out of him, being shoved into his face, the wounds that he thought had already healed are now torn open again and Edward sticks his fingers into them, making it hurt even more.

Arthur knows at first hand what it is like when Edward is angry and for the life of him he doesn’t want to ever experience it again.

He still feels too guilty to visit Stuart’s grave after all this time.

So, he takes a deep breath and repeats firmly: “Go away, Edward”

“But why?”

And all over again it starts.

*****Inception*****

Edward disappears again one day, just like that – Arthur gets home and goes to bed. Edward hasn’t been around the whole day, not in school, not at home. The next day goes by and Edward – he’s just not there anymore.

He’s happy, ecstatic even, but the thought, rooted deeply in his mind – won’t leave him, no matter how hard he tried, eating at him.

_One day, Edward will come back_.

*****Inception*****

So Arthur keeps living his life, making friends, communicating, though he never feels really comfortable around them. He just waits, for a day to end, for a month to pass, for school to finish.

As soon as he graduates, he goes to military, never really missing the friends he’d made at school.

He finds he’s good at following orders, he’s good at doing whatever he’s being ordered to, because this way he’s not responsible for his actions.

He joins the Project Somnacin, when he’s twenty-three, and he finds he’s good at that, either. He can build a dreamworld worth something, he can kill projections like nobody’s business, and most importantly – he’s very good at cleaning his mind, at controlling his subconscious.

He’s the best.

He’s so good, that one day, a guy, named Dom Cobb comes and asks Arthur to join him and his wife with their experiments at dream-sharing, and Arthur goes, partly because he’s good at it, partly because he enjoys it, but mostly because he has nothing to do with his life.

He likes Cobb, and likes Mal, so he goes along with it, in the process, somehow, managing to make his first _real_ friends.

When he’s twenty-five, he moves to Los-Angeles, so he’s closer with Dom and Mal.

This year, he receives a call, informing him that his father is dead.

He feels nothing.

*****Inception*****

When he’s twenty-six, he meets Eames for the first time.

Eames is loud and playful and broad and handsome, and he reminds Arthur of somebody, somebody that he doesn’t remember, but is supposed to, somebody that makes his head hurt.

He calls Arthur stupid pet names, that remind him of something wrong and bad and scary, and Arthur doesn’t like feeling those, but Eames never stops.

He doesn’t like Eames instantly.

After every job with the man, Arthur is left feeling things he’s sure he isn’t supposed to feel, and it makes him helpless and angry, and it makes him hate Eames even more.

After the fourth job with Eames, Arthur figures he _wants_ the man.

He _wants_ that fucking bastard with thousand faces, who keeps poking Arthur and provoking him, who is handsome and charming, who flirts with him and never really means it, who probably doesn’t care about anything but himself.

He’s hard every time Eames so much as licks his lips, and that, more than anything, makes Arthur feel mad and pathetic, and the wave of disgust for himself is so huge, Arthur can’t even look at himself in the mirror.

Eames, fuck him, has this thing about liking to be underestimated. He jokes and acts like he doesn’t know the meaning of the long words and the names of famous books and movies, like he sometimes doesn’t know what everybody is talking about, but Arthur sees right trough this bullshit. He knows Eames is far cleverer than people give him credit for.

Actually, Eames is one of the smartest people Arthur knows, including Cobb. He is smart and calculating, always three steps ahead of everyone else, and he is all by himself, like a lone wolf, and he always sees the benefit for himself in absolutely anything.

Eames is perfect at controlling his emotions, something Arthur had used to be good at, too, before he met the fucking forger.

After the fifth job with Eames, the Big Headaches start. Arthur does his best to ignore them.

After the seventh job with Eames he starts feeling sick. He doesn’t let himself worry about that, either.

After the tenth job with Eames, the incident with the black mist happened, the one Arthur pushed to the back of his mind.

After the twelfth job with Eames, Edward comes back, so here he is now.

*****Inception*****

*****Inception*****

Arthur tells Eames almost all of this, one huge fucked-up biography, but it feels great, it feels absolutely amazing to fucking finally open up and spill this shit he’s felt and suppressed for years to somebody who’s _fucking real._

Eames is silent for a long time, long enough for Arthur to start thinking he’s made a huge mistake telling Eames this, but then Eames just closes the space between them and pulls Arthur in a bone-crashing hug, his hands meeting on Arthur’s back.

It’s been such a long time since anybody touched him like that, and Arthur is confused and shocked, when Eames’ nose presses to the skin between Arthur’s neck and shoulder, and he feels Eames’ hot breath on his clavicles, and without thinking he hugs Eames back.

“ _Arthur, Arthur, oh god, darling, oh god_ ” He hears Eames whispering like mantra, and the next moment Eames’ soft warm lips are pressing to his temple, his forehead, his cheek, nose, eyelids, before tentatively meeting with Arthur’s own.

It is wonderful, amazing, fabulous, better than anything Arthur has ever tried in his entire life, and he goes for it, kissing Eames in response, with a kind of desperation and greediness that he’s felt for so long.

Near the window, Edward stands, leaning against the wall, arms crossed and he says: _Remember you are **mine** , darling_

He says: _This Eames better let you go now that he knows what you’re capable of, my boy_

And then: _Have you forgotten what I’ve done for you? What we came through together?_

And: _I think you need a reminder._

 

*** INCEPTION***

 

First thing Eames does after he's made sure Arthur is deeply asleep, having spilled everything to him, is calling Cobb.

Cobb answers when Eames is almost hanging up on him.

«Dom Cobb speaking.»

«Cobb, this is Eames,» Eames says tiredly. After listening to Arthur for almost two hours he feels like all life has been sucked out of him.

«Eames?» Cobb says, sounding unpleasantly surprised. «Huh, didn't expect to hear from you, especially so soon after… well, you know…» he pauses, and Eames can imagine him squinting really hard. «Anyway, what can I do for you?»

«Yeah, sorry to bother, you know I wouldn’t if this wasn't important, but this is about Arthur.»

There's a long pause on the line.

«Is- Is everything alright?»

Eames says: _I don't know._

Then: _No._

And: _Everything's worse than you can imagine_.

Cobb listens.

…

***Inception***

…

Only after speaking to Cobb does Eames let himself actually think about what he has just learnt. A simple idea of something being wrong with Arthur seems absurd, let alone something as huge and horrific like this. It seems absolutely surreal.

_Arthur is sick._

He lets the thought roll around in his mind. He says it out loud. It tastes vile on his tongue.

He can't possibly imagine something so absolutely horrible, tremendous happening to Arthur, _his_ Arthur, his perfectly composed, always only-business-like Arthur, who has everything and everyone under control, who can find his way out of any particularly difficult situation using this wonderful brain of his; his tight, stick-in-the-mud Arthur, who always argues with him just for the sake of arguing and having the last word; his Arthur who sometimes smiles at Eames' jokes and looks at him with unbelievable warmness in his eyes when he thinks Eames is not looking.

Eames is _always_ looking.

Eames is always concerned when anything concerns Arthur.

His Arthur.

_Arthur is sick_

_Arthur is sick_

_Arthur is sick_

He looks down at Arthur's sleeping form and pulls a fag out of the pack, lights it up. Even in his sleep Arthur looks troubled, deep frown on his face.

Okay. So Arthur is hallucinating. Since his very childhood. Arthur has an imaginary friend that he hasn't grown out of.

Only it's not as simple as that. Arthur is actually dangerous.

Arthur has _killed_ someone at the age of thirteen.

Even though not consciously, without any intent or purpose, he still committed a murder in cold-blood.

_Arthur is sick._

Eames shakes his head, clearing this thought out.

Okay, so Arthur is not perfectly well. He's still the same Arthur, same man, only now Eames knows the side of him only he can see. Arthur confided in him and Eames sure as hell will do everything he can to live up to Arthur’s trust. That is, if he still has any.

Why has Arthur really called him in the first place? Why told him all this? What does he expect Eames to do? To run away? To help him? To put him in an asylum for the greater good of the humanity?

Eames sighs heavily, looking around the room. So somewhere around here Arthur is seeing some fucked-up bloke who keeps tormenting Arthur since he was thirteen, who stares at him with cold deadly stare; who threatens him and talks shit to him, and just won’t leave Arthur alone.

Automatically, Eames turns around, trying to see that person.

Eames would gladly beat the living shit out of that Edward character, if only he were a real person and not a product of Arthur’s sick imagination.

Eames opens the window and throws the cigarette butt away. Arthur obviously needs his help and if he does, if he trusts Eames enough with that tiny little problem of his, then Eames _will_ help.

Not that there was anything he wouldn’t do for Arthur, really.

…

***Inception***

…

Cobb arrives the next day, looking very soft and out of practice. Eames supposes being a Dad has done Cobb some actual good.

Cobb sets the PASIV down on Arthur’s coffee table, ignoring Arthur’s shifting and uncomfortable looks he keeps throwing at Eames.

Cobb is only here to help, as Eames has reassured Arthur. He doesn’t know the whole problem, he only knows there _is_ one.

“How many levels down are we gonna go?” Arthur says just for the sake of saying anything, Eames suspects, though however nervous Arthur might look he sounds perfectly composed, Eames will give him that.

“Three,” Cobb says with the air of cold professionalism around him, “As I already said, you and Eames go down to the third and solve whatever issue you have there that you won’t let me in to see.”

Cobb is _offended_ , Eames realizes suddenly. He’s actually offended that Arthur confided in Eames and not him.

Well, he thinks, smugly, _tough_.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you enough, Cobb,” Arthur says, obviously having picked on Cobb’s attitude as well. “It’s just that what is down there – you won’t like it.”

“Let me decide whether I’m gonna like it or not!” Cobb exclaims, his cold composure forgotten. “Trust me, Arthur, I’ve seen a lot, and whatever is down there will hardly surprise me!”

“Believe me, it will,” Arthur says quietly.

“Arthur –“

“Cobb,” Arthur cuts him off. “ _Please_.”

Several seconds (or maybe minutes – it definitely feels like minutes) pass where Cobb keeps piercing Arthur with his squinting glare and if Eames were in Arthur’s shoes even he would probably get uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

“Fine,” Cobb says finally, admitting defeat after the quite long staring match. “Fine.”

“Thank you,” Arthur says and looks up at Eames, his gaze wondering. Eames nods. “Okay then, I think we’re ready.”

Cobb nods reluctantly, looks at Eames like he’s somehow offended Cobb personally.

Then he presses the button.

…

***Inception***

…

“Eames,” Arthur says suddenly when they are two levels down. He sounds pained and weary. The only thing Eames wants at the moment is to make him feel better.

“Yes, darling?”

Arthur looks at him for a long time, silently searching his face. “Thank you, for… uh, this. For doing this,” he can’t even look Eames in the eye while saying it; he looks positively crushed. “You can’t even imagine, uh, what it means to me…”

Eames looks at him, his pale frowning face, a little bit pink on the cheeks, his perfectly combed and gelled hair even at a time like this, and just breathes Arthur in, the whole of him, with his tiny awkward ‘uh’ sounds that are so uncommon for him because that’s what he sounds like when he’s actually _thanking_ Eames, absolutely sincere and adorable.

Eames wants to draw closer to him and press a soft kiss to his lips. He’d be happy to just stand there and kiss Arthur forever but the problem they have keeps tugging at him, constant reminder that things are not okay, Arthur has serious, _very_ serious issues and if the thing they’re trying to pull here doesn’t work, Eames is out of ideas on how to help Arthur, besides seeking professional help.

But he’s going to think about that after they’ve tried out everything.

…

***Inception***

…

Eames opens his eyes, looking around frantically in search of Arthur. Three levels down to Arthur’s subconscious and it’s the first level Arthur is not beside him.

Eames takes in his surroundings. He stands on a back yard of a small old-looking house, the grass turned brown and yellow under the sun, though there’s no sunshine at the moment. The sky above him is grey and dark and the air is electrified with fear and loneliness and madness.

Eames shudders.

There are old swings right behind him, the red paint that used to cover them peeled off almost completely.

He keeps turning around, fear beginning to grow cold in his chest at the absence of Arthur.

Fear seems to be the only natural feeling in this place.

There’s suddenly a sound of crying behind him.

Eames turns around and there’s a boy who wasn’t there a moment ago sitting on the old swings, his shoulders shaking as he sobs.

“Hey” Eames says tentatively, reaching out to touch the boy’s shoulder. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

The boy keeps crying, not reacting to Eames as if he’s not there. Eames frowns: he’s in Arthur’s subconscious – usually his projections don’t only ignore him but would gladly glare at him murderously. This one’s actually acting as if there’s no Eames at all.

The boy’s still crying and Eames shudders again. The boy looks about twelve, though his sobs sound so heavy and so pained as if the boy has been through much more than any grown-up.

There’s no wind but Eames suddenly feels very cold. Despite his goal to help and fix Arthur he doesn’t want to be here a second longer. He doesn’t like this place at all.

What is this place?

_Where’s Arthur?_

“Hey, mate,” Eames tries again to draw the boy’s attention but the kid won’t even look at him.

“You can’t help him,” says a voice behind his back and Eames turns around, his gun in his hand, ready to fire any moment.

There’s a bloke standing a few feet away from him, tall and muscular, ginger hair falling over his eyes. He has an air of confidence about him and also that of danger, radiating from him in waves.

The air is more electrified than ever now. The eeriness of the place feels like a fist clenching around Eames’ heart and suddenly everything is very still around them, still and quiet, the only sound heard is the boy’s sobs.

Eames thinks he sees red with a corner of his vision, but when he turns to look at it, there’s only brown, burnt out grass. He looks at the ginger bloke, and, _there it is again_ , something red that catches his eye, but he can’t look at it directly, and he thinks he imagined that.

He swallows hard, his heart beating crazily in his chest, and he wishes for all that to be over soon, so he could just _leave this fucking place_.

“He’s a lost case,” says the man Eames assumes is Edward. “The only thing he can do now is cry. Not that it will help him”

Arthur – and Eames is now one hundred percent sure the boy is little Arthur – pays no attention to their words whatsoever. Eames looks at him again, quickly, and there he sees it then – the small red spot of blood on the collar of Arthur’s shirt.

He raises his gun and points it at the smug bastard in front of him.

Edward smirks.

The temperature drops for about ten degrees in one second.

“Oh go ahead, darling, shoot me,” Edward says with malicious glee. “You can’t actually kill me”

“And why is that?” Eames says through gritted teeth, gun still pointed at the man.

“Try and use your brain to answer it”

“Try and use your bloody mouth to answer it before I start putting bullets through you. You say I can’t kill you? Well, let’s try and see how true that claim is.”

“Ooh, brutal _and_ perfect body,” Edward sneers. “No wonder he fancies you so much”

“He?” Eames asks, looking at the boy. “You mean Arthur?”

“Can’t say the same about your brain though,” Edward shakes his head. “Yes, _Arthur_. Pathetic little psycho, wishing to feel loved and safe his whole life, but subconsciously rejecting each and every thought of actually having anyone. It’s so sad I’m gonna cry, pass me the tissues, would ya?”

The bastard is fucking mocking Arthur! Eames pulls his finger on the trigger, second away from shooting the twat in the smirking face.

He pauses, taking a deep breath, trying to calm down. He could first listen to what the bastard has to say.

“Sorry mate, left them in my other pants,” Eames says, “don’t get too distracted on Arthur’s behalf. Why can’t I kill you right now?”

Edward looks at him for what feels like ages before saying “You know why”

And there it is, it all suddenly makes perfect sense in Eames’ head now. Of course he can’t kill him, of course he can’t and how could he not see it before, because –

“You _are_ him,” Eames says finally.

“You are quite right, darling,” Edward says mockingly in a fake awful-sounding British accent. “I am just as much Arthur as the sobbing piece of shit over there. He and I – we are two sides of one coin, we complete each other, and we are both Arthur. You can’t just kill a vital part of him and expect him to be all right. Killing me you’d kill a huge part of Arthur’s personality. We are the pieces that together make Arthur who he is. He won’t be the same person without either me _or_ him” he shoots a glance at the boy.

Eames lowers his gun, shuddering from both the cold and the feeling of despair that has crept into him after the words.

“So as you see, you are quite useless here, my dear” Edward keeps on, “And as much as that little faggot fancies you to be his lovebird, I hate you every equal bit of that.”

He voice grows colder and more serious by the end of the speech and the electricity in the air reaches its maximum. Eames can feel the hair on his arms and neck stand up with goose bumps and quite frankly, this is the most eerily depressive dream he’s been in for a long, long time. He actually feels like shrinking into a ball and crying, crying, crying, until this fear and despair flow out of him, leaving him completely devastated.

Edward is slowly coming closer to him. Eames can’t really see him moving but he’s getting closer and closer, his eyes visible under the ginger fringe only for a second to reveal the blackness of his eyes.

“And now no one will help _you_ ,” Edward says in an eerie whisper that echoes right in Eames’ head.

Frankly, the closer Edward gets, the more scared Eames suddenly feels.

“ _Nothing’s going to remain of you, dear_ ” is the last thing he hears before putting his gun in his mouth and pulling the trigger.

…

***Inception***

…

“So, how did it go?” Cobb asks first thing as Eames jerks violently awake, his heart beating loudly in his ears. He looks at Arthur who’s still hooked up to a machine, frown on his sleeping face.

“Worse than I expected,” Eames says and that’s the understatement of the year. “I have no idea what to do now,” he admits quietly.

“Is it- Is that problem of Arthur- how serious is it, Eames?”

“ _Mal_ kind of serious,” Eames says, looking Cobb in the eye.

Cobb flinches as if he were slapped on the face.

“Oh god, I had no idea,” he mutters, shaking his head, and suddenly he looks a lifetime older.

“Anyway, wake him up, I don’t want to leave him there alone” Eames says, thinking about the horror he’s just went through and not wishing it on anyone else, let alone Arthur. Let alone small, scared _kid_ Arthur, face-to-face with that bloody monster. He shuts his eyes tight until it hurts.

“I’ll call Ariadne,” Cobb says, reaching out to the PASIV. “I think she’d be glad to help”

Eames nods, eyes still painfully shut.

Cobb pauses and looks at Eames carefully. “And Eames?”

“Yes?”

“Go get some rest. You look worse than shit”

Eames rolls his eyes. He has a bit of more important business than sleeping right now.

“What, worse than Arthur then? He at least looks _like_ shit”

Cobb sighs heavily and heads to the door. He pauses at the doorway, looks at Eames.

He says: _I’m not sure I can help you this time._

Eames nods. _I’m not sure anyone can_ , he answers.

Cobb closes the door behind him.

…

***Inception***

…

Things get pretty tense after that. Realizing that Eames couldn’t deal with Edward in Arthur’s subconscious, Arthur closes in on himself almost completely, becoming snappy and irritable, attacking Eames for as much as breathing too loudly.

Eames goes along with all of it and doesn’t say a word, firstly because Arthur is going through a hell of bloody lot right now and secondly because Eames is afraid to trigger something inside Arthur that will make him give control to Edward completely. Just like he did when he was thirteen.

Eames stays in Arthur’s LA apartment without so much as asking Arthur’s opinion on it and Arthur doesn’t call him on it. It’s win-win situation, Eames thinks, as Arthur has someone to watch him to make sure he doesn’t go completely bonkers, and Eames is just happy to stay so close to Arthur.

It’s anything but a happy stay though.

A week into their life together, Arthur can’t ignore the presence of his hallucination anymore, and more and more often Eames hears Arthur talking and screaming at thin air, begging and pleading for Edward to go away, to leave him alone.

Edward never does.

Soon after that Eames starts noticing how Arthur’s right hand starts twitching rather violently after another screaming session. Arthur tries and fails for Eames not to see it, but Eames does anyway, and Arthur turns snappy and aggressive in a matter of seconds after Eames tries to discuss the issue.

Arthur gets aggressive very often, lately, Eames thinks, screaming and arguing with Eames with a note of desperation to it that Eames can sense, as if Arthur tries his best to pretend that they are back to the way things were – Arthur’s cool subtle insults that were spoken with a tiny hint of smile on the pointer’s face and Eames witty replies, provoking Arthur for more, more, always more.

Eames knows there’s no coming back now.

Some days, Ariadne comes to check on them, helps to calm Arthur down on another one of his bad days. Not that Eames can’t handle Arthur on his own, but Ariadne insists.

_He is my friend, too_ , she says.

_He is so much more than just a friend to me_ , Eames wants to say but he doesn’t. Ariadne gets her own key to the apartment after all.

Sometimes, some days, he and Arthur, they have spectacularly great time together. They go for walks in the evenings, talking about everything and nothing, stop for dinner in some cheap but comfy diners and Arthur smiles and laughs and makes jokes and laughs again, his dimples showing brilliantly, and looks at Eames like he is the most precious thing Arthur’s looked at in his entire life.

And Eames can’t get enough of him.

But these are Arthur’s good days.

***

***Inception***

***

 

“Pass the remote, Eames,” Arthur nothing but orders from his left on the coach.

“Saying _please_ and _thank you_ once in a while won’t kill you, Arthur, dearest,” Eames smirks but complies.

“ _Thank you,_ ” Arthur says pointedly, his tone still authoritative enough to believe he was speaking to a servant. Eames sighs.

“What, you find _Jersey Shore_ not up to your perfect taste?”

“Eames, I find the whole of MTV channel offensive to so much as a phrase ‘perfect taste’,” Arthur replies, grimacing, clicking through infinite channels on the TV.

“And I suppose _Lost_ is so much better,” Eames says, as Arthur stops clicking and puts the remote on his side, satisfied at last. “Because there is a group of people, trapped in one place they can’t leave, one of them dying every week one after another… Are we watching the more fancy _Jersey Shore_ version, darling?”

“Shut up, Eames, there’s _plot_ ,” Arthur grumbles, but Eames catches tiny smile on his lips. “And there’s time travel. Who are you to object to time travel?”

Sometimes Eames forgets how much of a geek Arthur actually is.

“But, darling, if you want time travel – what are we doing watching this bollocks? I could download all of the Doctor Who series and we’d have a marathon!”

“Download? What are you, a pirate now?” Arthur says, looking at him incredibly. “Eames, you’ve made enough on the last job alone to buy a small country. Would it kill you to once in a while actually, oh I don’t know, _spend_ those money?”

“Love, I once downloaded a movie I had on a DVD just because I couldn’t get bothered to get up from the couch and get it from across the flat. I reckon, the amount of money I may or may not have doesn’t play any role in that.”

“Even for Doctor Who? You won’t be bothered to get up for your huge British cult show that every English boy secretly geeks after?” Arthur grins, turning to him, and Eames snorts at being called ‘English boy.’

“Unlike someone, and I won’t point fingers, I am not a geek, Arthur.”

“Yeah, sure,” Arthur smirks, “that coming from a person who has the whole Doctor Who and Star Trek collection on DVDs. Even the bad ones.”

“Hey, there are no bad ones in Star Trek!” Eames exclaims. “And you can’t blame me for having Doctor Who! Every self-respecting Brit must have a Doctor Who DVD!”

“Keep calm and carry on, Mr. Eames,” Arthur says and laughs at Eames’ sour expression.

Eames looks at Arthur, laughing, relaxed and young, in this so very domestic environment they’ve built around themselves, and he can almost pretend that it’s always like that – that simple, domestic, boring life with the two of them sitting in front of TV and arguing about what to watch.

He can almost pretend.

He almost can, except for the times when even though Eames can’t see him, he can still feel Edward being the third one in the room, sitting with them on the couch. He doesn’t have to be able to see Edward to know precisely when he appears in the room.

He shakes his head, his smile draining from his face.

_This is one of the good days_ , Eames reminds himself.

He lets himself enjoy it while it lasts.

***

***Inception***

***

On his bad days, Eames finds Arthur sitting in the corner of the room, shrinking himself in a ball, crying and shaking and muttering things Eames can’t make out.

Arthur says there are spiders and snakes crawling up his arms.

He says the walls are shrinking down on him.

He says he sees a ball of black mist in the air, following Arthur everywhere he goes.

He says he looks at himself in the mirror and sees a face he doesn’t recognize. He says his reflection in the mirror does things Arthur doesn’t.

He says he hears voices that are not his or Eames’.

He says Edward is sucking life out of him. He says Edward slowly kills him from the inside.

He says: _I think I’m going crazy, Eames._

And sometimes: _I think I might already have._

Arthur’s arm twitches violently every time something like this happens. It comes to a point where his hand turns completely dysfunctional and Arthur can’t even hold anything in it, let alone write.

That’s the first time Eames actually suggests going to a shrink. Get some meds.

It’s not the first time he thinks about it.

He’s thought about it a hundred times before: every time Arthur visibly flinches when Eames calls him _darling_ , every time Arthur smiles at him and then startles as if hearing something and his whole posture changes and he looks like a scared little boy Eames saw there, on the swings, crying.

It all breaks Eames’ heart. He imagines what it would’ve been like for them if there wasn’t anything wrong with Arthur’s head, if Arthur didn’t look humiliated and self-disgusted each time he says something sweet to Eames, like he should be ashamed of himself; if they just kept working jobs together and eventually Arthur would’ve opened up to him, trusted him, maybe even come to _love him_.

Eames doesn’t like to dwell on what-ifs. He always preferred doing something productive to sitting around and wasting time for unrealistic hopes and dreams. As productive as, for example, show Arthur to a shrink.

As predicted, Arthur doesn’t like the idea one bit. He gets aggressive and downright murderous and rants for a long time until Eames hears a lot of new things about himself. He lets Arthur have his own way, for now, lets the idea sink in.

Arthur goes to his room, shutting the door behind him tremendously loudly. Eames rubs his temples, headache starting to make itself familiar.

_Everything will be alright,_ he thinks hopefully, desperately, foolishly, _we are going to be fine._

…

***Inception***

…

Eames is lying on the bed, in a guest room he’s currently staying, unable to fall asleep, tossing and turning endlessly. The conversation (if Arthur screaming at him and he listening silently can even be called that) with Arthur earlier that day won’t quit repeating itself in his head.

Not for the first time Eames asks himself what, exactly, he’s trying to achieve here with Arthur. What is he actually hoping for? Happily ever after with a mentally ill person who will never love him back? Is Eames _that_ pathetic?

These are not the most pleasant thoughts.

Thankfully, and rather surprisingly, there’s suddenly quiet knocking at the door, and after a few moments Arthur’s head comes through the doorway.

“May I come in?” Arthur says, formally enough for Eames to immediately see how uncomfortable he is. He nods silently, too out of depth to properly react.

Arthur steps in the dark room and hovers uncertainly by the door. Eames motions for him to sit at the foot of the bed and scoots over a bit to make room for Arthur, eager to find out what the issue here is.

Arthur sits down, unsure, looking anywhere but at Eames. He can’t see Arthur’s face clearly in the darkness, but he’s sure Arthur’s blushing right now.

“Arthur?” Eames says after a few moments of silence. He’s becoming to get uncomfortable, without any specific reason. There’s suddenly tension in the room, though Eames can’t quite put his finger on where it’s coming from.

“You were right,” Arthur finally says, quietly, still not looking Eames in the eye. “About getting help.”

Eames is shocked into silence with that. He lets out a quiet humming sound that doesn’t really mean anything; too afraid to say something that will spook Arthur. He simply stares.

“I’ll go to see a professional if -,” he shuts up, winces as if he has a particularly bad toothache. “If you’ll come with me.”

And, really, Eames doesn’t even need to think about it. “Of course I’ll bloody come with you, Arthur!” he blurts out, and even after all this time Arthur still looks surprised at that.

“Eames,” Arthur begins tentatively, and suddenly Eames is afraid of what is going to come out of Arthur’s mouth, “why are you doing all this?”

It hits right to the point. Eames feels like he’s been hit hard in the stomach and all air is sucked out of him suddenly.

That’s the first time Arthur ever asked that question; the first time ever that either of them even addressed the issue, said it out loud, and brought the attention to it.

And Eames has been living here for a month now, really, he should have been prepared and ready to answer a simple question like that.

He has no idea what to say. He feels like shrinking in a ball and staying like that for next hundred years.

“Eames?” Arthur repeats, louder, strange notes in his voice.

The tension in the room can be cut with a knife. Eames’ heart is beating in his ears loudly, and the sound of his breathing fills the room. He feels like something tremendous is going to happen now.

“Darling, I -,” he tries pathetically, desperately, and fails, and he can’t even look at Arthur anymore, and what is he gonna do now –

There’s suddenly a warm breath at his cheek, shutting down all coherent thought he had. He opens his eyes, and Arthur’s right there, too close, what –

“Eames,” Arthur whispers, “Eames, look at me.”

Eames lifts his head and looks at him, and Arthur’s looking at him with so much love and tenderness and warmness that Eames’ heart breaks. Arthur looks at him as if he’s the most precious thing Arthur could ever look at.

Arthur kisses him then.

It’s not at all like anything Eames has ever experienced before, but then again, there has never been anyone Eames was crazy about as much as he is about Arthur. It’s not even like that time Eames kissed him a month ago, when Arthur was breaking down – that was merely touching lips to lips, Arthur being broken and unresponsive. This is absolutely different.

Arthur kisses him like there’s no tomorrow; like he’s drowning, and Eames is the only thing keeping him afloat. He kisses Eames passionately and desperately, and he tastes like cigarettes and sadness.

Eames kisses back with twice as much force.

There are hands all over his body, travelling up and down, stroking his chest underneath Eames’ shirt, and then Arthur is on top of him, still not breaking the kiss apart.

Eames doesn’t remember ever being that hard. Or, for that matter, ever wanting somebody as much as he wants Arthur now.

He wants Arthur as close to him as possible, wants to touch Arthur everywhere at once. It’s ridiculous how hard he is, his cock aching and leaking already, not even touched once, and Eames thinks shamefully that he’s gonna come in his pants, like a bloody thirteen-year-old.

Arthur draws away suddenly, and Eames panics for a moment, but Arthur only takes both his and Eames’ shirts off, so they can be bare skin to skin now. They kiss messily, Arthur saying Eames’ name like mantra over and over again and it it’s such a turn-on Eames is really afraid he’s not gonna last at all. His underpants are damp already and no one has even touched his cock yet.

Arthur starts hungry messy kisses down his chest, leaving a wet trail of saliva. He takes one of Eames’ nipples in his mouth, sucks on it slightly, and Eames is reduced to a moaning mess underneath him. Arthur licks and sucks at his nipple, blows on it, then does the same with another, and Eames thinks he hears an embarrassing half whimper half whine that must have come out of his own mouth.

Then Arthur’s hand comes down under his pants and actually touches his dick.

Eames comes just like that.

“Arthur,” he pants, orgasm taking over for several moments of white bliss. “ _Arthur, please,_ ” he begs, having no clue what he’s asking for.

“Shh,” Arthur whispers in Eames’ ear, his hand still milking Eames’ dick. “Shh, I’m here,” and isn’t it ridiculous that Eames is the one being comforted, when Arthur has been the one breaking apart all this time. Still, it’s Eames who’s completely fallen apart and is lying there, under Arthur, panting and whining while Arthur kisses his neck and strokes his softening cock.

And it’s so dirty and so wonderful, and, for once, Eames is not the one who has to control everything, and it’s brilliant and hot, and Arthur’s here kissing him again, pulling Eames’ sticky underwear off.

“Shh, Eames, just relax,” Arthur is saying though Eames cannot hear him over the white noise of post-coital bliss. He just lies there and listens to his heart beating in his ears, and Arthur’s voice gently washing over him in waves.

Then he feels a finger behind his balls, slowly circling his entrance.

“What –“ he starts to say, and Arthur shushes him again, kissing his lips and then his earlobe and whispering softly: _Relax, love._

It’s the first time Arthur has ever called him something other than his name or _bastard_ , or other swear words. Arthur has just called him _‘love’_.

Suddenly, Eames can’t breathe.

All at once, despite the fact that he just came, not even half an hour ago, his dick is rapidly getting hard again.

“You like that, huh?” Arthur says, smirking, having picked on Eames’ reaction. “Love. _My love._ ’

“ _Arthur_ ,” Eames pants, extremely turned on, his cock achingly hard again.

Arthur’s slick finger enters him, just a bit, stopping, before going further inside. It’s been so long since Eames’ done that and the feeling of being filled, even with just a finger, overwhelms him.

“My god, if you could just see yourself right now,” Arthur said, working his finger in and out of Eames. “So flushed and so tight for me, leaking just from me fingering you, using _your own come_ as lube, oh my fucking god, Eames”

There’s the second finger in his ass, and blimey, Arthur’s using Eames’ come as lube, what is Arthur doing to him!

The burning in his ass gradually grows into distant pleasure, and than Arthur crooks his fingers, and _fuck_ , Eames is seeing stars, and someone is begging…

“You want this, Eames?” Arthur asks him, mercilessly fingering the blabbering mess that is Eames, “You are so hard for my cock, aren’t you? Do you want me to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk for days after? Do you?”

And when did Arthur become such a dirty-talker? Or has he always been like that? But it doesn’t matter, because Eames is just getting harder, if that’s even possible, on Arthur’s dirty talk.

The fingers inside him are too much now and not enough, making Eames arch and beg for more, for Arthur to finally, _finally,_ get out his cock and fuck him through the mattress. He wants it, he wants Arthur inside him, he wants them to be as close as physically possible.

“Arthur, please,” He begs, so out of it he’s not even ashamed. “Please, please, please.”

He opens his eyes, only now realizing he’s kept them shut, to give Arthur a pleading look, and for the first time he sees that Arthur, too, looks like his control is rapidly slipping from him. His cheeks are flushed, hair disheveled, eyes gleaming and shiny with warmth and tenderness, and Eames loves him _impossibly._

“ _Please,_ ” he begs again, rubbing his cock on Arthur’s thigh to get some friction, and Arthur hisses.

“ _Eames_ ,” Arthur whispers, and then Eames feels Arthur’s cock slowly entering him, feeling too much and not enough at once, and he moans. Arthur enters him and stops, letting Eames adjust, but he’s waited too long and it’s unbearable now. He whines and whimpers, too far gone to feel embarrassed, and Arthur finally moves.

It’s perfect and so much better than what Eames has ever imagined. It’s hot and it’s desperate, and when Arthur says: _Eames, love, look at me_ , he moans and gathers all of his strength to open his eyes and focus them on Arthur.

“Eames,” Arthur says again, with so many emotions mixed in a simple word that it would take forever to name all of them. Arthur is looking at him with so much tenderness and _love_ that Eames’ chest aches and something prickles in his eyes. Arthur moves again, hitting that spot inside Eames and his body arches, eyes falling shut again.

This is almost too much: too emotional, too intense, and far too overwhelming for any sexual experience Eames has ever had.

Arthur leans down, their bodies flushed together now, and he kisses Eames messily, swallowing his breaths and his moans, and Eames almost sobs with the emotion of it.

“Come for me, my love,” Arthur whispers in his ear, and Eames is coming, untouched, for the second time in half hour and the force of it is almost painful, come spurting out of his aching cock, making him sob, and Arthur is kissing his eyelids, kissing away the tears from his cheeks, kissing his nose, his chin.

Eames feels like crying and letting it all out, all of those feeling that kept building up while he’s been living in this LA apartment, trapped in this castle of paranoia, misery and madness Arthur has build around himself.

He sobs and lets it all out.

“I love you,” He sobs out, his whole body shaking, “Arthur, my Arthur, I love you, _I love you_ …”

Arthur just keeps kissing him, holding his close, caressing his face and his shaking shoulders.

He whispers, _it’s alright, my love._

And _shh, I’m here, it’s all going to be fine._

And _we are going to be fine, love._

And right here, in this moment of fragile happiness, Eames believes him.

He falls asleep to Arthur’s gentle voice washing over him and promising him better, happier future.

***

***Inception***

***

Eames should have known it wouldn’t last. Not with them; not with what Arthur has.

Eames returns home from the grocery store the next day, bags at his sides, and a bottle of Champaign under his armpit, and when he enters the apartment he immediately knows something is wrong.

It’s to quiet and still. It’s eerie and it reminds him of a dream he once went to, of a crying boy on the swings.

He tenses. His hand reaches for the gun on its own accord.

“Arthur?” He calls out tentatively. There’s no response.

He puts the bags and the Champaign on the floor and takes a few careful steps into the apartment. “Arthur, darling,” he calls again, his hand gripping the gun almost painfully.

The entry door behind him creaks and shuts with a slam, deafeningly loud in a silent room. Eames sweeps around.

Arthur stands there behind him. He is smirking, his head slightly cocked to the side, and he studies Eames with cold curious eyes.

“Edward,” Eames greets. He doesn’t let go of the gun, stupidly, because, Eames realizes bitterly, he would never shoot at Arthur. Even if it’s another person, it’s still Arthur’s body, and Eames would never hurt him like that.

“Eames,” Edward drawls, and Eames flinches at hearing his name being said like that.

They stand, glaring at each other silently. Eames feverishly tries to come up with a way to snap Arthur out of it. He needs to think of something fast, before any of them does something they will regret.

“I warned you,” Edward finally says, breaking the silence, “I told you to stay away from him. He. Is. Mine.”

“Why are you here, Edward?” Eames asks brokenly, exhausted, also trying to win some time before something terrible happens. “We were doing so well… Why did you have to come and ruin everything?”

“I won’t stand and watch Arthur living a life of a filthy faggot!” Edward spits out. “He was mine first, I was working on him. And then you came and destroyed all of my hard work!”

“Edward, please,” Eames says, trying to reason with him. “You love Arthur, right?”

“Of course I love Arthur,” Edward hisses, “I am the only one who actually loves him.”

“Well, if you do love him, you must realize this is not fair to him,” Eames reasons, “if you do love him, you must let him live his life and make his own choices.”

“What’s not fair is that I raised him, I was always there for him, I was his only friend, and then _you_ come and take him away from me,” Edward says quietly and insinuatingly.

“Edward,” Eames starts to say.

But in a matter of a split second, so fast that even Eames with all of his military experience barely registers what’s happening, Edward pulls out a gun, _Arthur’s gun_ , and shoots Eames.

As Eames lies on the floor, crimson blood flowing around him in an almost perfect circle, he thinks _we almost made it_ ; he thinks, bitterly, _we were going to be alright_ , and he wants to cry with that thought.

His twitching fingers still hold the gun in his hand, but he barely has the energy to lift his arm.

Edward comes to him and looms over his body.

“Come on,” He encourages, smirking, “Come on, you shit, shoot me!”

Eames looks at him, his consciousness quickly slipping from him. He can’t even register where, exactly, he’s been shot and how vital the wound is. That alone is enough to tell him the situation does not look good at all.

Edward lifts the gun and points it straight to Eames’ head.

“Come on, shoot me back!” he almost screams.

“Arthur will never forgive you for that,” Eames tries to say, his voice raw and heavy in his chest. His eyes are falling closed.

He would never shoot Arthur, he knows, even if he could lift his hand and push the trigger.

“I’m gonna count to five, and then I’m shooting your fucking brains out!” Edward says, his voice coming as if through a wall.

Arthur would break apart after this.

… _Two…_

Oh God, who would look after Arthur when he’s gone?

… _Four_ …

We almost made it to the therapy

… _Five_ …

_I love you, darling_

And then there is nothing.

***

***Inception***

***

Eames wakes feeling as though he’s been run over by a freight train. His mouth feels like shit, his eyes feel like they’re stitched closed and he can’t move to save his life.

He realizes he is somehow still alive.

He falls back into the darkness.

The next time he wakes he actually bothers to open his eyes. It’s hard but he manages and on looking around he realizes he is a hospital room. He feels someone sitting by his side and, stupidly, for a moment, he hopes it’s Arthur.

It’s Ariadne.

Eames swallows a lump in his throat and blinks away the prickling in his eyes.

Ariadne looks tired. She tells him what happened. She tells him how she wanted to check on them because it’s been three weeks since she last had, and she went to Arthur’s flat, and then just on the other side of the door she heard Eames speaking to ‘Edward.’ She tells him how she immediately realized what was going on, how she took the fire extinguisher from the wall in the hall of the apartment and then opened the door with her key, so quietly that no one heard her. She tells him how she crept behind Arthur, just before he fired at Eames lying on the ground, and hit him on the back of the head with said fire extinguisher. She tells him how she dialed 911 and tried to keep Eames alive until the paramedics came.

Eames listens to her as she tells him all about his surgery. He doesn’t care, but he listens. He waits till she speaks about Arthur but she never does.

“Ariadne,” he stops her and she looks a little bit guilty, “how long have I been here?”

“A week and a half,” she says sympathetically.

“Where is Arthur?” Eames finally brings himself to ask, and she looks as if she’s been dreading this particular question. There’s a long silence.

“He is in the asylum,” she finally answers, looking away.

“What? Which one? How?” Eames says desperately trying to grasp on what’s going on.

Ariadne sighs. She starts telling him how Arthur came back to himself in the ER of the same hospital, arms and legs bound; Ariadne was with him at the moment and Eames was at surgery. She tells him how Arthur became terrified as soon as he couldn’t spot Eames anywhere and then realized he didn’t remember how he got there. She tells him how Arthur didn’t believe her, how he asked her to untie his hands so he could check his totem; she tells him how Arthur fell apart all over again when he saw he wasn’t dreaming. She tells him how Arthur became unstable after that and the doctors had to give him sedatives intravenously to calm him down.

She tells Eames that after Arthur blacked out, they sent him to Hawkins Mental Health Center. She tells him she only visited Arthur once since then and _sorry Eames, but I don’t want to talk about that._

Eames lies there silently in the bed and wonders at how extremely fast it all went to absolute Hell. He knew their life in LA wouldn’t last forever since they’ve lived on borrowed time, but that time _wasn’t enough._

He closes his eyes. He thinks he hears Ariadne quietly stand and walk out the room, closing the door behind her.

***

Inception

***

Eames visits Arthur at least three times a week. He still tries to sniff out jobs whenever he can, but his life mostly revolves around Arthur, like, frankly, it always has.

He comes to Hawkins every time he can, he flirts with the nurses, and then he goes to the room he has to go before they let him in to Arthur. In that room he takes off his watch, his belt, removes every sharp object that could be of danger to Arthur.

Then they let him in to Arthur.

Arthur lives in a white room with a sealed window, soft walls, and a bed. The mattress on the bed has a special surface that can’t be broken, so Arthur won’t try and choke himself on the mattress stuffing.

They keep Arthur mostly on Thorazine nowadays, and sometimes on Clozaril and Trilafon. They keep him medicated at all times. When they don’t Edward comes and tries to hurt Arthur and everybody around him. When he’s not medicated he gets dangerous.

Like Eames said, Arthur would never forgive Edward for what he did to Eames. Arthur also has never forgiven himself.

Eames knows that Arthur is to go through his month-long Thozarine course and then they are going to try therapy again. Another month and then they’ll give Arthur another chance.

He goes inside. Arthur is sitting in a chair by the window. Nurses tell him that it’s one of the two things Arthur ever does – sits in a chair by the window.

“Arthur,” Eames calls softly, careful not to spook Arthur. Arthur doesn’t react in any way; he looks completely unaware of anything around him.

“Darling,” he tries again.

Arthur slowly looks up to him with his glassy eyes.

“Am I dead?” Arthur says monotonously.

Eames flinches. He swallows a lump in his throat and comes closer. Arthur loses interest in Eames and goes back to looking through the window.

“No, darling, god no,” Eames says and feels like sobbing, and hating the world and Arthur’s father in general for doing this to his brilliant son, “you are not dead, why would you say that?”

“Am I dead?” Arthur says again, as if no one has spoken. He doesn’t look like he realizes Eames is even there. “Am I dead? I feel dead.”

Eames briefly shuts his eyes. Arthur starts drawing something on the window glass with his finger. That’s the second thing Arthur ever does, nurses tell him – drawing on the window glass.

“You are not dead, love, you are not,” Eames says desperately, convincing himself probably just as much as Arthur. He looks at this crunched man in a white room and he doesn’t recognize the brilliant pointman he once was, the perfect know-it-all and stick-in-the-mud that Eames fell in love with. He thinks of the couch in front of TV and conversations about shows and time travel and he can’t think of Arthur of those days and this man as a same person. He sees only the empty shell of the man Arthur once used to be.

_He’ll go through therapy_ , Eames reminds himself again and again and again _. He’ll go through therapy and he’ll make it, and we’ll be fine._

_We will be fine, love_

Eames thinks if he will repeat that enough times, then maybe he’ll believe it.

That time they had was nearly not enough. It could never be enough.

He comes closer to Arthur and looks at the glass on the window. On the foggy glass Arthur draws the letter E again and again, probably not even realizing he’s doing it.

Nurses tell him, it’s always the same letter.

“What are you writing there, darling?” Eames asks him as he always does, and Arthur replies nothing like _he_ always does. It’s just that _E_ letter being drawn again and again that lets Eames hope that Arthur hasn’t forgot. That somewhere, in that fractured and broken mind of his, there is still a memory of them together, a memory of _Eames_.

Eames hopes that the _E_ that Arthur so stubbornly writes on the window glass stands for _Eames_ and not for _Edward_. He hopes that it stands for _Eames_ , and if it does, then Arthur is not completely lost, he can still be fixed and put back together. With time, with a lot of time and work and energy, but Eames hopes and believes that they will have that.

The time they had was not enough.

And all Eames can do is be there and hope that someday they will have more.

He hopes.

***

The End.


End file.
